Freelance Trader
by Turquoise Girl
Summary: There is a place for everyone and everything in the world. Good and evil? Those are just point of views. It's money, not morals, that makes the world go round. That is the mercenary way.
1. The St Louis Agenda

**Disclaimer: My name is not Eric Kripke; therefore I do not own Supernatural. If I did, Dean would find a way to lose his shirt in every episode. **

**Summary: When an enforcer breaks the rules and takes the St. Louis Mafia over by force, a mercenary is contracted to solve the problem.**

* * *

The St. Louis Agenda

Wednesday – August 8, 2007  
St. Louis, MO

Nicholas Rossetti nervously fixed his tie and squared his shoulders before one of his men pushed open the heavy oak door to the Holiday Inn conference room. Rossetti shoved away his minute annoyance at not being the one to pick the meeting location, but that was the way the system worked. His right-hand man, Thomas "Tommy Guns" Donato, followed him in, and two more men brought up the rear.

Rossetti lowered himself into the plush leather chair, Donato at his right. The three men he had brought settled for standing behind them, covering their backs. He glanced at Donato and nodded. His second put the silver briefcase he had carried on the table and opened it. He twisted it around to show the person on the other side of the table what was in it.

$100,000 for calling a meeting, cash.

Rossetti held his breath as the briefcase was pulled away and checked for any tricks. When it closed with an audible click and set down on the ground, he let it out. He then snapped his fingers for the other briefcase and they went through the same thing. This time it was for being present at the meeting. The amount in the case was $500,000.

At a nod, giving him the go ahead, Rossetti began the meeting. "I would first like to say that I have heard good things about you, which is why I asked for this opportunity to speak with you. I've heard you are the best. I've heard you are a professional, and above all, you get the job done. Second, I thank you for taking the time to meet with me. I am sure you are in much demand with your many accomplishments. Our reason for meeting you is great, as normally we would resolve to take care of this ourselves and keep this in the family, but as the saying goes, we gotta do what we gotta do. There has been an insurrection among the outfit in St. Louis in the past week."

He paused for effect, but his ears caught a small sound, something that was very familiar to him. Rossetti swallowed, but before he could inquire as to what the sound was, the mercenary asked a question. "Let me guess, you want me to take them out, right?"

Rossetti felt a trickle of sweat make a path down the side of his face. He bobbed his head nervously. "The leader is an enforcer by the name of Jimmy Valenti. He killed the Capos and the Underboss before trying for the Boss. Luckily, his Consigliere, Paul Carolla, took the shot for him in the shoulder. They sent word to me down in New Orleans as Paul's my cousin. All attempts to suppress this violation have failed.

"Now this has to be taken care of now before it gets out of control and some other wise guy tries to make a repeat of this elsewhere, God forbid. We have Valenti's headquarters pinpointed and thus far he has stayed there. We just need Valenti taken care of. The soldiers that were under the Capos are good men, but how many of them are still loyal remains to be seen until we can get back in there."

He shifted in his chair. The room was air conditioned, but it felt like it wasn't even on. "Now, should you agree to this contract, we have the information needed for a hit, including location, floor plans, guard changes."

"Then why do you need me? I am sure you have guys more suited to this task than bringing in an outsider."

He let out a breath. "It is true that most would keep this in the family, but it must be said that Valenti is no ordinary made man. He is well versed in defending himself as well as going on the offensive. Carolla has indicated that Valenti has taken several martial arts classes and is very good. My men are not suited to such a task and my father did not raise a fool. If we want this done quickly, outside assistance is needed." Rossetti added in a savage tone, "Valenti must be made an example of, an example no one will wish to follow."

The room fell silent as his plea—no, offer—was debated. Rossetti shared a glance with Donato. The last bit will alter the way he'd gone about things, but it had to be done. Valenti will pay for what he done.

There was a single shrug of the shoulders. "Very well. I will take it."

Rossetti snapped his fingers again and yet another briefcase was placed on the table. He himself opened it and pushed it across the table. "$2,000,000." He hesitated, but added, "I know it is a pretty low offer, but—"

"That is satisfactory. I haven't taken a contract in a while. I could use the time to brush up on my techniques."

"We could add another 50 grand."

"No, not necessary. If it makes you feel better, think of it like this: what you don't pay me, I'll take out of his flesh." The briefcase was closed. "Information?"

Donato signaled he had it. He reached into his jacket and found himself on the business end of a black Glock 22, standard of the United States law enforcement. The three clicks he heard behind him meant their men also drew their guns.

Rossetti scarcely breathed. The heat in the room just went up another couple degrees. The situation had suddenly gotten out of control. He slowly raised his hands. "Wait. It is just a misunderstanding." He waved his hand at his men. "Put them away."

They did as they were told and the Glock's barrel moved to the side of Donato. "Bring it out slowly. I see stock and you'll get a bullet in your third eye, pal. Hey, maybe that way you'll have two eyebrows instead of one, Lurch."

Face dark as a storm cloud, his second slowly withdrew his hand, fingers closed around a flash drive. He pushed it across the table and a hand slapped down on top of it.

The Glock disappeared. "Very well. A pleasure doing business with you gentlemen. Give it two days and you'll hear from me. Have the rest of my money ready for me then."

Donato spoke, his heavy brows drawing together. "The rest of your money? You have more than two million right there! How much more can you possibly want?"

"Mission expenses and mission completion fees," was the reply. "Hey, if you do not like it, I'll refund $1,000,000 back to you. We all walk away and you find yourself another contractor. Good luck containing St. Louis. I give y'all two weeks before the entire organization explodes."

Rossetti stood and waved a hand. "That is not necessary."

Donato shook his head and glanced at him. "Nicky, don't do this. We can't trust—"

"Are you serious? Where'd you find this Godfather reject, Rossetti?"

A look at Donato's face told him to contain this or St. Louis would go to hell. "Enough.

You have agreed to the contract and we will honor your requirements. You have my word."

He put a hand on Donato's shoulder to restrain his words. Rossetti withstood the keen scrutiny and received a nod. "I will hold you to that, and I also hope you have not lied to me. If you had gotten my contact number, you must have been told my rules."

"Yes, everything I have said is truth." Rossetti shook the extended hand. "Is that all you need?"

"Yes. If I need more information I will contact you."

A soldier led the way to the car outside the hotel. Rossetti tried to scrape up what patience he had for the conversation Donato was fuming for.

They left the hotel parking lot and merged onto the busy street.

Donato asked, "Why did we go there? We had other associates to choose from. This is not how things are done, Nicky. Why did you choose that disrespectful piece of trash?"

Rossetti closed his eyes. "This is a violent time, Tommy. We have to be careful in taking care of this St. Louis business. Paul is family to me, my cousin on my mother's side. His arm had to be chopped off because of that river shit Valenti. No telling who is on whose side in this mess. That one is the only one we can trust to not take a side, and Paul is the one who gave me the contact number."

" 'That one' is a woman!"

* * *

The screen was bright as a green dinosaur in a go-cart careened down the straightaway, a red shell appearing behind him. Pressing the L button, the shell barreled forth like a heat-seeking missile to take out the pink princess in front of him. 

"Take that, you prissy little bitch." The words were muttered in the near empty conference room.

Passing the princess, the dinosaur tried to bump the mushroom kid in first place out of the way, but he swerved to avoid a yellow banana peel the kid left behind. A second later, a blue spiked shell zoomed past him and eliminated the kid. Yoshi the Dinosaur crossed the black and white checkered finish line, taking first.

"Yes! You the man, Yoshi." The lap times listed and then the points were added. Yoshi's character racked 36 altogether, allowing him to take the gold cup. The race results were saved and the Game Boy Advance was clicked off.

A quick sweep of the room made sure nothing was left behind. Making a quick call to the front desk let them know business in the conference room was concluded, allowing a quick escape from the hotel.

In the parking lot, a dark-haired woman walked to the only motorcycle parked there. The engine started up with a low menacing growl. The powerful vibrations coming from the sleek machine underneath her danced up her spine with familiarity.

She caressed the low-rise handlebars as she settled more in her seat. She knew without glancing behind her that her money was secured to the seat.

Kicking up the kickstand, she shifted and left the parking lot like a bat out of hell, going east on Wilson Avenue.

The whistling air, muffled by her helmet, did not bother her. The road flew beneath her wheels. The honks and curses from her road-sharing peers only increased her amusement. They merely wished they had the freedom to do as they like.

A sneer crossed her face. Most of them were stuck in dead end jobs, unhappy with their lot in life. Many did not have the balls to take what they wanted, what they needed.

Pussies.

She maneuvered through traffic like a pro on her Night Rod. The sunlight caught the ghost flame paint job, black on black metallic. She shifted to another lane and the flames disappeared.

That's what she loved most about the Harley-Davidson. Not the powerful engine, the wheels, or the freedom metaphor, but the paint job. It wasn't exactly unique, being one of many custom paint jobs for the company, but it suited her. Like the flames, she could appear and disappear at will.

No, she didn't have any X-Men superpowers, though she thought it would be cool to have a power like Pyro. It was more or less being able to blend into a crowd or the shadows. That was a true power. As handy as disappearing into thin air was, disappearing into a crowd was more challenging, more appealing.

Besides it gave the enemy someone else to shoot at. Mario Go-Kart was a prime example of a free-for-all.

Spying a red Ninja ahead, she grinned as she revved up the engine and roared past it. A glance into her side mirror told her the Ninja had answered her challenge.

* * *

Friday – August 10, 2007 

When Jimmy Valenti started awake, he knew he was in trouble. The memory of his murdered father faded into the fog of his pounding head. When he dreamed of his father being shot, he knew trouble wouldn't be too far behind.

He shook his head and winced. God, his head hurt! The clock ticking somewhere in the background was not helping.

Jimmy went to touch his temples and panicked when he couldn't move his arms and legs. He stopped his struggles when a bright light clicked on, blinding him, adding to the pain.

Bewildered, Jimmy racked his brain to figure out how he got into this mess. One minute he's on top of the world, satisfied with his little coup. The next, he's tied to a chair with a splitting headache the size of Mars.

Squinting against the light, he called out. "Hello?" Jimmy nearly winced at his croak of a voice. He cleared his throat. "Hello? You better have an army if you think you can pull this off. Do you know who I am?"

Jimmy looked down and blinked a couple times, trying to get used to the light. Then he recognized the arms of the chair he was in. Just yesterday, he had watched Dominic Carolla, a cousin of Paul Carolla, die in this chair. Dread curled into a tight ball in his chest.

A chuckle came from behind the light, throwing him off. A chuckle in and of its self normally would not bother him—if it were a guy. No, this one had the high teasing tones of a broad enjoying herself.

"You men," a low voice spat. "Always so presumptuous, thinking it has to be a man to get one over you."

In another time, another place, the husky timbre of her voice might have instilled a little desire for her, but not now. Not while he was tied up and she was free to move.

Jimmy scowled in the direction of her voice, squinting against the light. He mustered up all the anger he had. "Listen here, bitch. Do you have any idea who I am? Do you know what playground you're in? You better let me go if you don't want a world of hurt to come down on your pretty little head. Wouldn't want to mess that pretty face up."

"Oh, I'm terrified," she taunted. "Please don't."

The slap came out of nowhere, from the left. The resounding smack echoed in the empty room. His face throbbed.

He heard another teasing laugh. "I'm a big girl, Jimmy Valenti. I can take care of myself." Fear went up his spine at his name, causing goose bumps to pop up as it did. Her voice continued to wash over him. "Thanks for the touching concern, but you might want to keep it for yourself, though. You'll need it."

Jimmy shivered. She talked to him like he was an afterthought, like he was already dead. He began to pull at the ropes securing his arms and wrists. A grunt escaped his lips, drawing her attention.

"Are they too loose?" she asked, her voice coming from behind him.

He froze. How did she get there? Wasn't she in front of him?

She tugged at his bindings. "I better tighten them. Can't have you running out on our date. I spent hours getting ready." The ropes moved roughly against his arms, pulling at his skin as they tightened. Laughing, she added, "Wouldn't want you to bleed out on me either. It's no fun when the game ends before it really starts."

The hunger he heard in her voice curdled his blood, twisted his stomach into knots until he felt like throwing up. His mother had told him once if he continued to disregard the people he had in his life, hell would come for him. She had been right.

"Who are you?" he whispered hoarsely, acceptance crept into his heart.

She patted him on the head. "Names aren't important, Jimmsy." He closed his eyes at his father's nickname for him. He broke out into a cold sweat despite the sweltering heat. "In fact, you aren't going to be important at all after today. Lucky you."

Jimmy took a deep breath, holding back the sob that threatened to come out. "You aren't going to get away with this. I've got men—"

"Really, where?" The question cut him off. "Because those girls I had to go through to get you were barely worth my time."

He felt like the rug had been pulled out from under him. "A-all of them?"

Something unzipped behind him and he heard the scrape of fabric, canvas maybe. "Total score was eleven." He exhaled harshly. The sounds paused. "Was that all of them?" He didn't answer. "I guess so then."

Jimmy kept silent. Something was placed on something hard, most likely the table, and more fabric grazing. There was something else among the sounds that made his spine tingle, the feeling concentrating between his shoulder blades before spreading throughout his body. Dread gave way to horror.

She continued to talk. "I was told you were a smart guy, Jimmsy." She laughed again. "But you had only eleven guys watching your back. Come on, I've seen movies where a single guy takes out twenty with a machine gun. The fact that you even made it alive this long shocks me. Whether or not you have a brain, I'll find out in, oh, about an hour after I've had some fun with you. The Egyptians had some really nifty ideas about removing body parts."

Jimmy flinched. He had seen that movie about the Mummy coming to life after some librarian chick read from a black book. He remembered her talking about the brain removal. Behind him, he heard the small clinks of metallic something or others. He cringed. Tools? Probably.

Suddenly he couldn't hear anything else behind him. No more sounds. There was only the harsh sound of his breathing and his rapidly beating heart. He was going to die and no one was going to help him. He felt more alone than he'd felt in his entire life, even more so than the time his uncle had locked him in his closet all day when he was young.

The tears burned in his eyes, leaving trails of fire down his cheeks. Ashamed, he heard himself ask, "Why me? Why are you doing this to me?"

The words were desolate, heartfelt, ripped from his soul. He felt naked and exposed to hear himself talk like that, but he had to make her see. He had to make her understand that he didn't deserve this.

Warm air ghosted over his right ear. "That's just the way it is, Jimbo. You played the game and you just happened to land on the loser's square. Could happen to any of us."

Jimmy choked out the words past his sobs. "But why?"

She chuckled, the sound jarring in the scheme of things. "Again with the obvious questions. Did you really think you could take over the St. Louis outfit and not suffer the consequences, especially when you didn't follow the rules like everyone else?"

The faint hope vanished completely. If she was contracted to take him out, his pleas would go unanswered. He didn't know if she knew what he did, but Jimmy knew what he had done was wrong, out of order. He knew this was coming, though he had hoped it wouldn't be for a few more years. He had only done it for his father.

"You've been a bad boy, Jimmsy. They want an example made of you."

"No, please. I'll give you anything, anything you want." Jimmy pulled at his ropes. "And I'll go away. You won't ever hear of me again."

She took a long moment. Her question was tentative. "Promise to leave the country?"

Hope bloomed. "Yes! I will leave the country! I'll even give you money! Will you let me go?"

He heard her breathe in, senses strained to take in anything she did. "Nah, I filled my mercy quota for the year with the last guy." Jimmy sagged in his chair, the last chair he'll ever sit in. The ropes dug into his arms even more as he wasn't hold his own weight up. "You really thought you'd get out of here?" she scoffed. "Don't make me laugh. When I take a job, I get the job done."

Something flashed in the lamplight on his right, making him blink. He glanced down.

"Ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod," the words spilled out of his mouth, running together.

The scalpel tapped against the back of his hand, gleaming silver bright. "You know, at this point I usually say something like 'Be a man' or 'Die with some fucking dignity,' but that's not going to happen with you. Know why?" He sensed it was rhetorical and didn't answer. "Because this isn't _just_ another job. This is personal for me. One of the guys you shot is family."

Jimmy couldn't breathe. His worst nightmare was going to come true. One in which someone whose family he hurt came looking for him to make him pay in the most painful ways. It was one every made man had, even if they didn't know it.

The scalpel drew a thin line of red across his wrist, drawing a hiss from him. "Death isn't going to come quick or easy for you, Jimmsy." She chuckled a bit, sending his heart into palpitations. "I'm going to make you feel every single thing I'm going to do. You can scream all you want. I put my earplugs in."

He followed the slender hand up to her arm, past her lush lips and straight nose to the shuttered blue eyes framed by black lashes. Blank and lifeless, he thought they were like those of the sharks at the aquarium. Only hers were blue and not black, which, along with her striking looks, made the comparison even more disturbing.

Something wet touched his finger. His eyes widened.

"NOOOOOOOOOO!!"

* * *

Saturday – August 11, 2007 

Tommy Donato gazed at what was once Jimmy 'Two-Fist' Valenti before turning away.

He had seen a lot of things in his days. He had done a lot of things that most required a strong constitution for, but this took the fucking cake. He barely kept his stomach contents down as it was and he gagged a lot.

It was a fucking mess. The corpse was just piece of ruined flesh and bone. There was blood everywhere. Donato looked out the window and stopped cold.

Holy Mother of God! He crossed himself, muttering, "That bitch is sick."

On the windowsill, lined up pretty as you please, were ten severed fingers. All of them had their nails painted baby blue.

He crossed himself again.

Donato left the room, making an effort to appear unruffled. To the two men standing outside the door, he said, "Get rid of that piece of shit and the rest. If you need more men, then you call them. I don't care how many of you it takes."

The soldiers looked at each other uneasily.

He was counting on their reaction to his order, which is what Nicholas wanted. His boss wanted a lot of witnesses. He wanted people to see what happened when someone didn't follow the rules, rules that had been in place for over a hundred years.

Donato left the building, sliding into the backseat of the black Cadillac. He pulled a cell phone out of his inside jacket pocket and called Nicholas.

The line rang twice before his boss answered. "Rossetti."

"It's done." He suppressed the urge to gag at the memory and covered with a small cough.

Nicholas paused. "Did you find anyone else?"

"There were only a few who agreed with him and those that didn't were found in a holding not far." His mind's eye saw the group of twenty men squeezed into a small room, the smell overpowering. "We got them help. Those against us got their reward."

"And the contract?"

"Completed. I doubt there will be any more trouble once it gets out."

"That bad?"

Donato shivered in his black suit. "Makes a demon look like a saint."

"Excellent. Anything else to report?"

"Yeah, whatever you do, don't get on her bad side." Donato was poised to hang up, but stopped. He added, "Tell her I apologize for my previous objections."

Nicholas responded slowly. "Okay. I will pass the message along."

Donato closed the phone with a snap once Nicholas disconnected. He ran a hand through his hair, mussing it. "God, I hope to never cross her path again."

* * *

She received another 500 large for mission completion and fees. Total pay equaled $3.1 million. 

It was a relatively small haul for a contract, even though contracts were not her usual paychecks. She actually preferred the trade commerce, but when in Rome… Normally, she would have charged much more for a contract, rare as they were, but these guys weren't the typical customers she dealt with.

She knew Paul Carolla. It was the main factor in why she charged so little and also why Nicholas Rossetti came to her instead of someone else, though he didn't know her. Paul's mother made sure he did.

Her father had saved his uncle, Joseph Belluchi, from a cop in Chicago during the '70s and they became friends until Joseph's death in 1984. Joseph's sister remained close with her family. Paul was like a close cousin, maybe even a brother, despite the fact he had several years on her, and his mother Lena an aunt.

Her cell phone blared the Eagles. "_Life in the fast lane / Surely make you lose your mind / Life in the fast lane…_"

She answered it. The voice trembled on the other end. Not out of fear, but out of anger. "You make him pay?"

"I made him scream." Knowing it would be appreciated, she added, "Painfully."

Lena Carolla disconnected.

* * *

Tuesday – August 14, 2007  
Creede, Colorado 

The front page of the St. Louis Tribune read _**Mutilated Body Found in the Mississippi River, Brains Missing!**_ three days later.

At least that's what she heard. The cops couldn't identify the body as the fingers were all severed and every single tooth was missing. The man's face was a ruin. There was no way to get a picture of what he might have looked like, though the lead detective of the case theorized that it could have been the doings of the Mafia organization as there had been a power play a couple weeks ago.

Laid out on the sofa of her living room, she sighed into her book as she turned a page. The guy had it coming anyway, so she didn't lose any sleep over it. Not that she did in any of her jobs.

There are rules in everything. Some you know, some you don't, but follow anyway. Valenti broke the rules and that week it was her job to correct that error and make sure no one else did it either.

Briefly, she wondered if that made her a bad person before dismissing that naive concern. She did what she had to do. There was nothing more to it than that. Business is business and morality is relative.

She turned her wandering attention back to the novel she was reading. On the cover, a young dark-haired woman clung suggestively to a strong jawed man, her face sweeping up to meet his. It was getting to the good part of the masquerade ball. James Edgeworth, Viscount Rawlings, had just snatched Miss Carolina Barrister into the library for something sinful.

Another page turned and she grinned. Sinful indeed!

The fax machine suddenly roared to life. She jumped, the book falling from her fingers. Using her momentum, she turned, a Colt Defender appearing in hand. By the time the trashy novel hit the floor a second later, she had already taken cover with the hammer pulled back and a finger on the trigger.

Relaxing, she laughed softly at her jumpiness. Easing the hammer back down, she slid the lightweight handgun back under the sofa pillows. She picked up her book and wandered over to the corner of the room.

The silver printer/scanner/fax machine beeped at her after it belched out two pages, signaling it was done.

She took note of the number on the cover page and laid it on the table. The next page immediately caught her interest.

**APPOINTMENT OPEN.**

**TALENT NEEDED TO RETRIEVE FAMILY HEIRLOOM.**

**SKY PAYMENT. NEGOTIABLE.**

**OFFER OPEN TWO DAYS.**

**FIRST COME, FIRST SERVED.**

**DETAILS UPON ACCEPTANCE.**

**NO CLEANERS. **

– **GEL**

The third line held her attention. That was a lot of money and it was _negotiable_. Pay coded sky, or blue, was the range of $100 to $500 million.

"How curious," she mused aloud. Whoever put this up wanted that heirloom badly. It was probably some kind of toy that fell apart at the first touch. It wasn't the first time that happened to a client of hers.

Her cell rang, AC/DC playing. "_Honey, what do you do for money / Where do you get your kicks / You're lovin' on the take and you're always on the make / Squeezin' all the blood outta men_—"

She answered it with "You're pulling my chain."

"I swear on my wife's head—"

Snorting, she interrupted him. "You don't have a wife, Chick."

Jerry Lombardi was like her agent. He fielded her assignments and made sure things ran smoothly. His boyish looks led to her calling him Jailbait that became Jailbird before evolving to Chick. The 'Gel' from the fax was his initials J.L.

He laughed. "Okay, on my life, which I value more than yours by the way, I swear this is genuine. You interested?"

She glanced down at the paper. It was sky marked and freaking wide open as hell. There had to be something more to it. Stalling for time, she said, "It says no cleaners. So why did you send this to me? What's the catch?"

Cleaners, or—depending on who you were talking to—contractors, were those of the assassination profession, something she rarely did. Appointments consisted of other things, mostly search-and-obtain stuff. Sometimes they were clean deals, and other times one had to slit a few throats to get what the client wanted.

Charm rolled off his tongue. "You're my girl, B. I'm just looking out for you is all." Chick paused. "You don't clean full time, so you are in the clear."

Moving into the kitchen, she rolled her eyes. "You're avoiding my other question, chickadee. What's the catch? Because God knows you could have passed this along to everyone else on your list."

The refrigerator was practically bare. She needed to go grocery shopping. Her stomach growling, she slammed it shut and moved to the cabinets.

"Nah, the advertiser wants a professional with the right attitude and skills. There are only two on my list and one of them is you, Beautiful. The other is Green."

The Hamburger Helper box slipped in her hand. She tightened her grip at the last second and left it on the counter. Adopting a nonchalant tone, she asked about him. "So what's the problem? Did he pick up on it?"

He sounded puzzled. "No, actually he passed. Said he had something else lined up. Kind of like you."

The tone of his voice told her what he meant. She focused on that rather than what ol' Green Eyes was up to. "You're not sore at me, are you? It was a family thing, Chick. I still charged. Just not as much."

Chick grunted. "You handling your own payments makes me a little uneasy."

She grinned. "Only because you weren't able to get a cut of the money, right?"

He cleared his throat, signaling a subject change. "I saw your handiwork in the paper. What did he do?"

Switching her cell to her other ear, she said, "Sorry, that's classified."

"Uh-huh, sure. I'll find out. Anyway, so how about it?"

She thought about it for a second. "Yeah. I'll take it. Send me what you got."

Disconnecting, she heard the fax machine starting up again. She went back into the other room and looked at the pages. The first couple of pages were articles about a large crystal, 10 inches in diameter that the owner carved into a skull in 1903.

Bela Chase raised an eyebrow at that. This could be _very_ interesting.

* * *

**Okay, so obviously I wrote this in regards to the one of the two new female characters Supernatural is introducing this upcoming Season Three. Out of the two of them, I think Bela's character stands a better chance of being more developed. From what I read about Ruby, her character pales in comparison. She just seems to be there for one thing: sexual tension.**

**I have no idea what Bela's last name will be, but I'll change it when they announce it, and I mean no disrespect to the Italian organization. **

**Reviews are love.**

**- TG**


	2. Innocence Lost

**Disclaimer: I still don't own Supernatural and Dean is still out of my reach.**

**Summary: Young Arabela Chase goes on an assignment with her father. The objective is to acquire three old Latin books. Okay, easy enough, but there is one party crasher they didn't count on and it has deadly consequences.**

* * *

Innocence Lost

Wednesday - September 5, 2007  
Queens, New York

She glanced at the calendar from her computer and frowned at the date. It suddenly struck her. "One more month."

Bela turned away to go into the kitchen. She couldn't understand that she had nearly forgotten. She wondered if she were this off at remembering, how would she fare when it was October?

She found herself at the sink, staring out the window. Her eyes were unfocused. She didn't see the crowded buildings below or the East River beyond that, or even the Bronx cityscape across the East river.

Her mind's eye saw smooth plains of straw yellow and wheat brown with just a hint of green.

* * *

Sunday – October 4, 1998  
Old U.S. 16 Highway  
Between Kennebec and Lyman, South Dakota

The storm clouds were dark and heavy. Arabela Chase watched her father glance up at the sky through the Ford Taurus' windshield with a calculating look. She knew it was to estimate how much time they had until the rains started.

From what the man at the grocery store in Presho said, it hadn't rained in four days, but it could change at any time. The whole town's been waiting since it stopped, but just because it rained in Presho didn't mean it would rain where they were going. About 23 miles separated the towns and that was a lot of space when it came to the weather.

She knew how important it was that they complete their mission and be gone by the time the rain started. In fact, it was pretty important that it rain once they left. It would wash away any tracks they left behind.

Turning to stare out her window, Arabela watched the flat prairie land roll by. Not far off was Interstate-90. The vehicles traveling the freeway were going much faster than her dad.

Arabela sighed, the petulant side of her mind coming out. Why couldn't her dad go fast like that? It wasn't like anyone was on the same road as them. Then the rational side argued that it would bring unwanted attention to them and it would mess up everything.

"You okay there, Riggs?"

She smiled automatically and looked over, meeting Dominic's blue eyes. Their favorite movies to watch were the Lethal Weapon series. "Yeah, Murtaugh. Why?"

Dominic glanced forward at the road and turned back to her. He tilted his head to the side. "You've been pretty quiet. You sure you wanted to come?"

Arabela shifted, working the seatbelt around to fold her legs under her. "Yep! The assignment sounds pretty easy, Dad." She smirked. "Besides school is out this week and it beats babysitting Uncle Evan."

Evan, her dad's only brother, liked to pull various pranks when he wasn't traveling the world. Four years younger, Evan was a free spirit with a pessimistic view of the world.

Chuckling, Dominic switched hands on the steering wheel to ruffle her long black hair. She batted his hand away. He said, "You're 12, but I swear you are more mature than Evan."

Smoothing her hair down, she managed to beam innocently and said, "That's because Uncle Evan got a lobotomy when he was in the Marines."

Dominic roared with laughter.

* * *

West of Reliance, South Dakota 

"Okay, Riggs, you got the plan down cold?" Dominic asked through the cracked window. He was standing outside the rental car, facing the tow truck parking behind them on the side of the road.

Arabela sat in the driver's seat, coat zipped and her hood pulled up. She nodded, giving him a mocking salute. "Yes, Captain Murtaugh!"

He grinned down at her. "Smart ass."

Giving him a cheeky grin, she replied, "Better than a dumb ass, Dad."

"Hey, watch your mouth," he said sternly, or rather, he tried to. The corners of his mouth tugged up in a barely concealed smile.

"As soon as you do, old man."

Dominic turned towards the car, a slight frown on his face. "Who you calling old man, little girl?"

"I'm not little," Arabela protested. She kneeled on the seat to swing at Dominic through the window. "I'm twelve years old, Dad!"

Dominic danced out of the way, smirking. "Yeah, well, when you're 30, you can call me old man."

She growled. "Dad! 30 _is_ old!"

"That's only six years less than what I am now, kiddo."

Arabela smiled sweetly. "And that's why you are old."

"Having car trouble, sir?" Arabela and Dominic looked at the gruff looking man. His voice rumbled and it matched the beard he wore.

She tilted her head. "Hi, mister."

The man nodded to her. "Hello." He looked at Dominic. "Car trouble?"

Dominic shook himself. He held out his hand. "Sorry. Jack Smith."

"Bobby Singer." They shook hands.

Dominic added with a sweep of his arm, "And this is my daughter, Riley."

She shook his hand as firmly as she could. "Hi, Mr. Singer."

Singer inclined his head and turned to Dominic. "So what seems to be the problem?"

Her dad waved at the front of the car where the hood was raised. "It just died on us not ten minutes ago. I took a look at the engine, but I'm not really good at mechanics."

Singer frowned and she knew he was thinking something mean about her dad. He opened his mouth, but looked at her and closed it. Then he said, "Let's take a look."

Dominic nodded. "Yeah. I mean I wouldn't want to have my _little girl_ freeze because I was an idiot at cars."

Arabela groaned at his words. "DAD!"

Dominic laughed and got the other man to crack a smile.

Grumbling to herself, she watched them walk around the front of the car and disappear behind the hood. She leaned down to see through the small strip of space between the hood and the rest of the car.

She tried to keep track of what was going on, but the wind had picked up and the cold air made her roll up the window. Arabela was glad the car didn't have automatic windows. It would have made rolling up the window harder.

Singer was checking the oil and uncapped a tank. Then he did something she couldn't quite see, but when he straightened up, she knew he found what was wrong with the Taurus.

They were talking and a few seconds later, Singer walked back to his truck and brought it around to the front. Dominic closed the hood and opened the car door. "We're in, Riggs. Come on. Bobby needs to hook up the car and you can't be in here when he does it."

Nodding, she climbed out of the car. A blast of cold hit her and she shivered. Dominic pulled her close as he led her away from the car.

Singer took seven minutes to align the vehicles and hook the car to his truck. Then he gestured for them to join him in his truck.

Arabela sat in the middle and watched the way Singer drove as he and Dominic talked some about the weather and if he knew the quickest way to Lily, South Dakota because that's where they were going.

When there was a lull in the conversation, she took the opportunity to ask what was wrong with their car.

Singer explained gruffly that the pulley shieves, which are like bolts that holds the pulley system for the fan belt in place, were not installed correctly and the fan belt was shredded as a result. Lucky for them, he has a '98 Taurus in his junkyard that was recently in a crash. He could pull the shieves off of that, but he'd have to check the fan belt. If not, he has a couple extra ones in his shed.

Arabela interrupted him. "You live in a junkyard?"

Dominic groaned quietly. "Riley."

"Like Ann-Marie in All Dogs Go to Heaven?"

* * *

Reliance, South Dakota 

A mile north of Reliance was Singer's Autos, his home and workplace. It wasn't really a junkyard, but the term had stuck since Singer had said it himself.

The man had introduced her to his two dogs, Lincoln and Roosevelt, or Linc and Rose, because Roosevelt was a girl, for short. Singer had said they were German Short-Haired Pointers, great for hunting. Arabela liked them. They were a bit wary of her at first, but after five minutes, they warmed up to her.

There was a house that she assumed Singer lived in, its front facing east. Off to the right side of it was a garage with an office attached to it. Once the Taurus was inside, Dominic told her to stay put and not touch anything. He didn't want to ruin anything Singer had in his office.

Arabela sat on the floor next to Rose. Linc was at the office door watching over her. She knew Dominic was with Singer to learn more about the car and what to do if it broke down again. She could hear them talking.

Rose had a pretty brown spotted coat while Linc's head was black and the rest of his body was white with some black speckles. She scratched Rose behind her ear and smiled when her tail wagged. Arabela wondered if Dominic would let her get a dog.

Ten minutes passed and she made her move.

Arabela had studied the garage carefully when she entered and she had not seen a bathroom. Peeking out the door, she saw Singer and Dominic under the hood. She walked out, Rose at her heels.

"Dad? Mr. Singer? I need to go to the bathroom."

Singer lifted his head and studied her for a long moment. Dominic chose that time to ask, "Can you hold it, honey?"

She looked up, thinking about the pros and cons of a dog. She shifted her weight and looked back at them, shaking her head. "Please? I'll be quick. I promise."

Singer nodded. "Go on up to the house. Follow the path to the back. You'll go through the kitchen and turn down the hallway. It's the second door on the right." He looked at the dogs. "Linc, Rose, look after her."

She smiled, shoving the weird warning to the dogs away. "Thank you!"

She ran out of the garage. Singer called after her. "Be quick about it, though."

"I will!" Arabella dashed up the gravel. Linc ran ahead of her while Rose followed her tracks. The path went to the back of the house. She noted that there was a shed on the far side of the house that was close to the fence enclosing the property.

Filing away the position, she stamped her feet on the mat outside to make sure she didn't track any mud in the house. She opened the screen door and the heavy wooden door, entering the kitchen. As she closed it, she looked at the heavy bolt on the door. Then she went to the bathroom and counted to thirty before flushing and washing her hands.

The dogs had gone to drink some water out of their bowls and Arabela took the opportunity to give them some food to keep them busy. With Linc and Rose's attention on their dog chow, she wandered into the front room to look around.

It was rather messy. There were newspapers lying around in stacks. Books lined the shelves, but she didn't see what she was looking for. She turned, intent on going back, but caught sight of the closed double doors across the other side of the front room. She quietly crossed the front entryway, looking up the stairs.

Arabela tried the doors, but they were locked. Studying it, she noticed the keyhole and crouched down. Squinting one eye shut, she looked through it.

It was another room full of books and there was a table on the far side of the room. She saw more newspaper, but they were clippings tacked to the walls. Shifting to the right, she tried to see more on the left. Then she tried looking to the right. She couldn't see much, but noticed that on the table, there was a stack of books, three of them.

Swallowing, she pushed back the excitement. There was no guarantee that that was what she was looking for. She couldn't see the spines of the books.

Arabela gave the room one last look and went back the way she came.

* * *

Pierre, South Dakota 

They stopped in Pierre, the capital of South Dakota. When they had left Singer's place, they continued north along Highway 47, but went west instead of east. Dominic had said Pierre was big enough to fly under the radar.

Arabela waited until they were settled in their hotel room to tell him what she had uncovered. Dominic listened carefully, asking if the hallway was a dead end.

She shook her head. The hallway had turned left and came out by the double doors.

There had been no electronic security pads that she had seen. The security of the house was standard locks and bolts. Linc and Rose added to it, as they probably were better at guarding the house than anything else.

She drew him a simple floor plan of the first floor. Arabela was sure that if she set foot on the stairs, the dogs would have made a fuss and passed that along to Dominic. He nodded, agreeing with her.

When she told him about the stack of books, wary anticipation showed on his face. "We don't know if those are the ones we're looking for, Riggs."

She nodded. "I know. Most likely they're not. It would be too easy if they were." Arabela glanced at the red digits on the clock. "I'm hungry, Dad."

Dominic smiled. "Okay, let me call Evan and we'll get some chicken." She made a face at him. He laughed. "Kidding. Burgers."

"Yes!" she smiled, pumping her fist.

Arabela went to the bathroom to give her dad privacy. Dominic and Evan didn't really get along most of time, though they tried to hide from her, but she knew how it was between them.

Her honorary Aunt Lena had told her once that Evan had joined the United States Marine Corps against Dominic's wishes when he was 18. She said that Evan had felt trapped and suffocated under his brother's over-protectiveness.

When she got out, she heard him say, "4 am, and she'll be alright. She's been coming with me for the past year." His laugh cut short. "Don't say it. You'll jinx it. We'll see you soon, kid."

When he put the phone back in the cradle, she walked into the room. "Ready, old man?"

Dominic smiled at her. "Come on, Riggs. I hear a double cheeseburger calling your name."

She grinned. Double meat cheeseburgers were the best.

* * *

Monday – October 5, 1998  
Reliance, South Dakota 

Dominic pulled into an old farmhouse half a mile away from Singer's house, with his lights off, just after 11:30. They had passed it when he towed their car and Arabela asked why it looked it so dinky. Singer had replied that it was for sale. The previous owners had moved to Pierre to be closer to their family. When they were leaving the garage, she joked in front of Singer that they should buy the farmhouse so that she can play with Linc and Rose whenever she wanted.

She knew they had to get in and get out by 4 am, the time they had set with Evan to call. Otherwise he'd drive up and find out why they didn't check in. She gave a silent prayer that everything went according to plan, God willing.

The chill in the air was biting. Arabela was glad for the layers of clothing she wore. Their house in Colorado was of similar temperatures.

The trek to Singer's house was cold and dark, but she kept close to Dominic, careful to walk on his left since his right arm carried a bulky case with a special gun in it. She didn't like it, but she knew it was important that they had it. It would make their entry easier. She herself carried a bag that was for the books they were sent to get.

A shadow flickered at the corner of her eye in the moonlight, but when she looked, there was nothing there. The wind picked up then, sending a cold caress along her cheek. She shivered and grabbed onto Dominic's belt. She left his hand empty in case he needed it.

Arabela ignored his glance, though she kept a careful eye on their surroundings.

About 50 yards off, just outside the fence surrounding the _salvage_ yard—not a junkyard—Dominic crouched down and opened the case. Quickly, he assembled the tranquilizer gun and loaded it. The darts each had the correct dosage for taking down an animal of 50 pounds, about the average weight of the dogs.

Dominic hoped to take Linc out first as he weighed a good ten more pounds than Rose. He wanted the extra time that plan would give him, but he was perfectly fine doing it the other way around.

When everything was ready to go, Dominic gave Arabela a nod and she hopped the fence first. Once Dominic was over, she grinned at him. Then they parted ways. She went left, east, to circle around to the back of the house while he would go south to the salvage yard and take cover. They would have ten minutes to get into position before Dominic would create a distraction.

Arabela knew the plan backwards, forwards, upside down and sideways, but that didn't chase away the churning feeling in her stomach when she was alone. She crept along the fence, watching her every step and keeping an eye on the house.

The lights were on and she saw movement in the front room on the left of the front door. She stopped. That was the locked room. Relief shot through. With the doors unlocked, it would make their job a lot easier.

Glancing at her watch, Arabela saw that she had six more minutes to get to where she needed to be. Giving the lighted windows one last look, she concentrated on getting to the shed she had seen before. With a minute to go, she sidled behind it and watched the house, counting down the seconds.

When she reached 11, Arabela saw another shadow move at the corner of her eye. She twisted sharply, her left hand going up her sleeve and drawing the black steel knife Dominic had given her for her twelfth birthday from the scabbard on her arm.

The wind moved the bare tree branches and danced along the dry weeds. There was nothing there.

Arabela swallowed. No, something _had_ been there. Her spine tingled with the feeling that she was being watched, _hunted._

She wanted her dad with her. He would know what was out there. He'd know how to find it and kill it. Dominic wasn't one of the world's best mercenary/assassin for nothing.

Squinting in the moonlight, she tried to find what she had seen. A loud CRASH echoed in the night, startling her. Linc and Rose tore out of the house, barking and growling. She wanted the dogs with her now.

Knowing she had to wait some more, she kept her back to the shed and her knife out. There was something very wrong tonight. She wanted to leave. Her instincts clamored for her to run and hide. Arabela didn't understand it. This feeling violated one of the rules she followed: Never go in blind.

A shotgun blast rent the air. That was Singer. It was then that she didn't hear the dogs anymore. Dominic must have gotten them.

Arabela didn't look towards the house. She didn't want her back facing the unknown, fearing that once she did, whatever was out there would get her. Quickly, she reached the back porch and scrambled to the door. Yanking the screen door open, it didn't make the squeaky sound it did before.

Her hand closed around the doorknob and twisted, heart in her throat. She couldn't see anything moving beyond the fence, but she had the sense that it was moving closer. She barely paid attention to the door and nearly fell back when it opened. Thanking God, she shut it and locked it.

Then she listened to the house for a second before moving through the hallway. The house was empty. Hoping Dominic was safe, she entered the previously locked room. With the light on, her eyes took a moment to focus and when they did, she stopped short.

She knew the walls had been covered in newspaper clippings, but she hadn't been able to read the headings. Mauling, attacks, drowning, fires, crop failures… Who was this guy?

Another gunshot startled her into action. Regardless of who this psycho running a salvage yard was she still had a job to complete.

Ignoring the clippings, she looked went straight to the table. There were three books she needed to find. Hopefully, Dominic would keep Singer occupied for five more minutes. In the light, she felt that whatever she had thought was out there watching her was imaginary, just the heat of the moment.

She said a word she wasn't supposed to say when the books she had seen on the table were gone. Arabela turned to the book lined shelves on the sidewalls. They were filled completely top to bottom, though the bottom shelves had some weird stuff instead of books.

Hurriedly, she looked at each spine, searching for three books that had a gold drawing of a snake wrapped around a cross that looked like a T. The books, said to be in excellent condition, were titled_ Recro Vita_, _Venenifer Elementum_, and _Tutela Obviam Nex_.

Arabela looked through one wall and ran to the other side. She had the sinking feeling that he didn't have them anymore. It wouldn't be the first time a buyer sold his merchandise to another.

Just as she was nearing the last row of books, she found them. Shrugging off the canvas bag she carried, she pulled out the towels she'd be wrapping around the books and did just that. Once she stuck them in the bag, she grabbed three books from the front room to put in place of the ones she had taken.

She looked around the room one last time and went for the doorway. Just as she entered the hallway, she heard something she never wanted to hear: her dad crying out in pain.

Arabela heard Singer cursing up a blue streak in the front of the house. She yanked open the front door, knowing she shouldn't, and dashed out onto the porch.

She froze before she could get to the steps going down to the ground. She stared helplessly as Dominic bent forward, clutching his stomach, running for the house. Singer was behind him, hurrying him forward as he kept watch over the salvage yard.

She saw it dart across the space from one car to the next. Her body quaked in fear. Oh God, what was that?

Dominic yelled at her. "Get in the house!"

She jerked from the sight of the huge lupine animal stalk out of the cars, eyes luminous in both the moonlight and the porch light. She met her father's fear filled eyes and did as she was told, though she stayed next to the wall by the door, ready to close it when they got inside.

Arabela shrugged off the heavy book bag, wishing she had a gun. She watched Singer reload his double-barreled shotgun as he kept watch on the creature.

Dominic stumbled in and collapsed next to the door, pulling her with him to the ground. She tried to pull him in more, but her small childlike body worked against her and she could barely gather any strength when she saw how bloody he was.

Arabela moved down to his legs to move them and hopefully roll him over when Singer came storming in, his shotgun cracking like thunder in her ears twice. She tried to warn him to watch out, but his attention was solely on the thing outside and his foot caught on Dominic's leg.

From her position, she saw both Singer falling, barely hanging onto his shotgun, and the creature bounding forward at the sign of weakness, eyes red and claws stretched out.

Dominic weakly pulled his legs in when she screamed at him. Singer had already fallen and rolled back onto his feet. Springing forward, her momentum powered by her legs, she grabbed the door to slam it shut.

She saw it jump the stairs, the door inches away from the frame. Her mind was screaming she wasn't going to make it.

A paw stretched out, claws sharp and bloody. Arabela knew it was this creature that hurt Dominic instantly.

She shifted her weight to put more power behind the door, anger and fear warring. The paw made it through the space and clawed her shoulder. She screamed.

The door slammed against its limb, drawing a painful howl from the porch. It yanked its paw out and the door shut.

* * *

They were all breathing harshly, Dominic from his injuries and exertions, Singer from the situation, and Arabela from the pain going through her shoulder. 

"Who are you?" Singer boomed. She looked up from her position on the floor and saw the barrel leveled at her. "What are you doing here?"

Just as she was about to point out that he was out, Dominic groaned, pain filling his voice. "Leave her alone, Singer."

Arabela tried to ignore her shoulder and darted to Dominic's side. Her eyes watered when she saw how his jacket was shredded and blood splattered everywhere.

Dominic was deathly pale and his throat worked to breathe. She stared at the terrible slash on his stomach and his mangled right shoulder. Her hands hesitated. "Daddy, I don't know what to do."

Dominic drew in a shuddery breath and reached out, his body shivering. She grasped his left hand with hers. He smiled weakly. "It's okay. It's okay, Riggs."

Arabela clung to the strength in his hand. Sniffling, she said, "Come on, Murtaugh, you can shake it off. Don't leave me. Please don't go."

Pulling his hand from hers, Dominic gently touched her cheek. "Don't you know, Bel? I'll never leave you."

Tears trailed down her face. She cleared her throat and sprang into action. Arabela put pressure on his shoulder, drawing a groan from him. She felt the blood leaking through her fingers. She tried to put more on, but her shoulder screamed in pain, reminding her that she, too, was injured.

She felt the waver in his touch when he laid his hand on top of hers. His strength was leaving him. Arabela allowed him to pull her face down to his, their foreheads touching. Dominic brushed her tears away. "Don't be scared, darling. No one cheats death."

She drew back a little, her hand clutching his. He smiled; blue eyes glazing and losing focus. Arabela closed her eyes when his fingers went limp. "Dad."

Something slammed against the front door, making her twist and lose her balance. Arabela jarred her shoulder and hissed. Gulping down air, she looked up. "What the hell is that thing?"

Singer mysteriously had a new weapon in his hands, a rifle with standard brown stock. He was currently loading it. "It's a rabid mountain lion. There's been an outbreak of rabies this fall."

Mountain lion? She knew what they looked like and that wasn't a mountain lion!

Arabela was sure the creature had been some kind of huge dog, or was she? She tried to think about what she'd seen, but her mind's eye flashed claws, teeth, and red eyes. She shook her head and glared at Singer. A bullet flashed in the light.

Narrowing her eyes, she thought furiously. No one kills a mountain lion with silver bullets. Regular bullets work just as well. Nah, it must have been the way the light reflected off of it.

She concentrated on the other question plaguing her mind. Why wasn't he calling the police or animal control? If it was a rabid animal, she knew it was dangerous for a civilian to take care of it without any professional help.

"How did you avoid it?" Singer asked, startling her out of her thoughts.

* * *

A low thump gave her a second's warning before the window exploded in, showering her in glass. Something heavy bowled her over, driving her to the ground. She held her hands out to absorb the impact. 

A dark snarl echoed in her ears, causing her heart to pound. Arabela felt it above her and she scrambled for purchase to get out from under it. Moving her arm opened her shoulder and she could smell the distinct coppery smell of her blood mixing with the charnel smell of the animal's breath and its musky coat.

Something wet dribbled onto her ear. Oh God!

Twisting, she wiped her ear on her shoulder and flipped onto her back, her arm raised to ward it off.

She saw it looking up, away from her. Angling her head, she saw Singer keeping his distance. It stood over her like it was guarding a bone. Shooting the beast a quick glance, she took the chance.

Arabela kicked the beast in its belly and pushed across the floor until she rammed against the stairs, her hand reaching for the knife up her sleeve.

It growled harshly and lunged at her. She slashed at it with the knife, catching it across the nose. It flinched away and pawed at its snout, whining and growling.

Thunder exploded in the house. Its head split open like a ripe melon. The body seemed frozen in time, standing still, until time snapped back and it crashed to the floor, shaking the house to its foundation.

* * *

Tuesday – October 6, 1998 

The morning light blinded her and she jerked awake out of a nightmare, her mouth opened in a silent scream. Arabela gulped down air and struggled to calm herself. When her heart settled down, she noticed that she was in a bed and there was a phone next to it on the stand. The clock behind the phone read 1:13.

They missed their check in time! Evan would already be on his way. He'd come for them.

Them… The tears came instantly with the grief. She whispered brokenly, "Daddy."

Dominic was dead, killed by that nightmare creature. She didn't even know what _it_ was. A huge dog? A wolf?

The silver knife hurt it and the bullet that killed it was also silver. Arabela grasped at a logical explanation because that's what Dominic would have done, but she couldn't find one that explained the smoke.

The impossible, spawned by countless scary movies, tried to get her attention. She shook it off. There is no such thing.

She stretched and hissed when her right shoulder protested and the bandage tape pulled at her skin. She remembered then that she had gotten hurt. Looking down, she saw that a fresh bandage had been put on her. She felt vaguely violated.

Despite the fact that the first time she had been bandaged up, the main point was she had been conscious. The second time, she'd been unconscious. There was no telling what kind of creep Singer turned out to be.

Arabela looked at the clock. 1:17.

She needed to call Evan. He usually had his cell phone on him. Hopefully, he was able to answer.

Listening carefully to the sounds of the house, she quietly picked up the phone receiver, making sure to hold the clear switch hook down until the receiver was against her ear. Then she let it go slowly.

"—got ripped up pretty badly."

She blinked. That was so not what she was expecting to hear. She covered the bottom of the receiver, so they couldn't hear her breathe.

Singer continued, his voice still rumbly. "He bled out, so he won't be turning. I put him in the freezer out in the shed until I can talk to the daughter."

Adrenaline pumped through her system at this. Her eyes flew about the room, casing it for escape routes and weapons. She looked at the window and saw a line of white on the sill. She frowned. Was that sugar?

Another man spoke. He sounded calm and serene, like he's seen it all, so nothing surprises him anymore. "Did you take care of the carcass?"

He must be talking about the dog thing. Singer replied, "Of course. Burned it once I knew for certain that it was the only one."

The man turned back to her and Dominic. He sounded very curious. "Why were they there?"

"They were there to steal those new books I got." Only then did Arabela notice that her bag wasn't in the room. "I should have seen it coming. Two days ago I towed their car to my place to fix the fan belt. The father kept me busy while his daughter scouted out the house when she had to use the bathroom. I doubt she really did use the bathroom."

He figured all that out? She thought Singer must be some kind of Sherlock Holmes in another life.

"Ingenious, using a child to infiltrate enemy territory." The other man's voice went funny. "Reminds me of John and Dean."

Singer growled. "Don't get me started on that, Jim." Arabela wondered why John and Dean would get Singer all grouchy. "Anyway, last night the father created the distraction out in the salvage yard, allowing the girl to get into the house and go through my books. After she passed out, I found the books in the bag she had, wrapped in towels."

Arabela sighed. So he did have her bag. He probably hid them, too. She fumed in silence. How dare he take those!

The man Jim asked, "Any idea who they are?"

"Not the father, but he called the girl Riggs and Bell." She gasped. She had forgotten that! Singer said, "Riggs is probably a nickname, but Bell is probably her name."

Close, she thought, but no dice.

"There are many names that incorporate Bell, Robert," Jim said in a stuffy sort of tone. He sounded like Dominic when he would lecture her on doing homework.

Arabela stopped breathing. No, he couldn't do that anymore. She blinked back tears and concentrated on the phone conversation. When Evan got here, then she'd let herself cry.

"Yeah, well, as soon as she wakes upstairs, I'm going to get some answers." Singer sounded like he took a drink of something. He smacked his lips. "Those books she swiped are not children's books. There are some pretty dark rituals in them."

Dark rituals? The information Dominic received said nothing about dark rituals. She studied mythology and read fantasy books. Dark rituals were not ever good things.

Jim scolded Singer. "Robert, you be careful with her. She has just gone through a horrible ordeal. She does not need any more stress."

She snorted. Understatement of the year!

"God, Jim, you make me sound like Johnny," Singer snapped back. She blinked at the frosty tone. "I'll call you later."

"Okay. Be careful. Don't forget to ask if she has any family."

"I got it, Jimmy. Go write a sermon or something and I'll catch you up later."

Jim said goodbye and they hung up. Arabela reached over and placed the phone receiver back. She heard Singer moving up the stairs, his steps heavy.

Hurriedly, she moved into a comfortable position and concentrated on slowing her breathing like Dominic and Evan had taught her. She closed her eyes.

When Singer cleared the stairs and walked towards the room she was in, Arabela figured she was at the end of the hall or something from how long it took him to reach the door. She resisted the urge to open her eyes, certain that once she did, he'd swing open the door and catch her red-handed.

Finally, the door opened and Singer entered. Arabela kept breathing steadily, in and out. A couple seconds passed and he chuckled. "You can stop pretending now. I know you're awake."

She didn't stop. There was no change or hesitation in her breathing. After all, she learned from the best.

"Don't make this any harder on yourself, Riggs."

Arabela jerked and blinked slowly. On the outside she was sluggish, but inside, she burned with a fierce want to cut out his tongue. He had no right to say that.

"Dad?" she croaked, raising herself up on her left arm. She rubbed at her eyes when she was sitting. Then she got a good look at Singer. He stood there, confident that he had seen through her. Arabela hoped that she was as good as she thought she was. She frowned at him. "Mr. Singer?"

Dark eyes twinkled with amusement. "Don't even try it, kid. I've seen every trick in the book. You're not fooling me."

Arabela swallowed and looked behind him to the door, to the window and to the desk. She had caught the shadow moving behind Singer when she looked past him. She had even bit her lip to hide her smile. She cleared her throat. "Are Linc and Rose okay?"

She watched him carefully beneath her lashes. Singer's face darkened, but in an even tone, he replied, "No, they died."

Arabela looked down and stared at the green blanket covering her. She played with the folds. "I'm sorry. We never meant to hurt them."

Whatever Singer said next was lost when an arm grabbed him from behind in an expert chokehold. Within seconds, Singer was lowered to the floor unconscious. Only then did Arabela dart out of the bed and into Evan's warm embrace.

He held her tightly and she sobbed against his neck for a good ten minutes. He rubbed her back gently the entire time. When she was able to talk without crying again, she told him that Dominic was dead. Singer didn't know what to do with him, so he put his body in the freezer out in the shed.

The 32-year-old mercenary paled underneath his tan. He blinked away the watery shine in his eyes. "Are you sure?"

She nodded. "I tried to stop the bleeding, but my shoulder…" She trailed off when Evan took in her bandages. The first words out of her mouth was, "The mountain lion just attacked him."

Arabela didn't know why she said that. It wasn't a mountain lion, but a—she hesitated. That's why she blamed a mountain lion. Evan would have never believed her. She barely believed it herself.

Evan's dark blue eyes were sad as he looked at her. He touched her hair. "Come on. Let's get your dad and blow this joint."

Downstairs, Evan brought his truck around to the shed in the back and opened up the tailgate and the camper shell's window. He told her that he'd handle Dominic alone.

Arabela watched Evan from the back porch as he squared his shoulders and opened the shed. She turned away, not wanting to see her uncle grapple with her father's body.

That's when she remembered the damn books that had led them all into this nightmare. Arabela cast a quick look towards the shed and rushed back into the house. She hurried into the Weird Room and found her bag, but no books. The towels were draped on the table. She groaned as she looked for them once more in the bookcases.

Ten minutes later, she looked through each bookcase four times, but didn't find them. Singer obviously hid them. She dismissed the idea that he'd hide them in any of the other rooms. There had to be another place.

It was then that she looked at the bottom shelves. There were jars of dirt, of white stuff, and weird shaped metal beads. Arabela moved them all and found a false panel behind two heavy metal tins labeled SALT.

Knocking against it told her there was space behind it. Then she saw the small latch at the top and pressed it. The small section of paneling fell to the shelf with a bang and with relief she saw the three books she had been looking for.

Five minutes later, she walked out the back door bag in hand, and nearly bumped into Evan as he was coming in to get her. They left Singer's Autos behind.

* * *

Thursday – October 8, 1998  
Creede, Colorado 

Arabela had told Evan where their rental car was parked and he made a phone call to have one of his associates to pick it up and drive it back to Denver, Colorado.

They had just buried Dominic in a small plot near their house. They had gotten a permit from the town and the government to do it. It was just they and Aunt Lena, her husband Charles and their son Paul that saw the casket buried.

The journey back to Creede was long. They had only stopped to get ice and pour it in the back to keep the body from decomposing.

She shuddered. Her dad was gone. He wasn't going to spring out from somewhere and laugh it off. He took a chance on an assignment and it just happened that his time was up. Arabela wondered if they hadn't gone to South Dakota, something else would have happened still to take him away.

Sighing, she sat out on the back porch steps, facing the Dominic's final resting place. In his coffin were the books he had lost his life to trying to get. She thought it was fitting, even though the books were cursed.

She had researched them on the Internet and found that they had been pronounced black magic in the 1500s. In the early 1600s, they disappeared, but they resurfaced in the following centuries, bringing death and destruction. Arabela translated the titles and found that _Recro Vita_ meant Reviving Life, _Venenifer Elementum_ meant The Poisonous Element, and _Tutela Obviam Nex_ was Protection Against Death.

They were all dark books and Arabela wondered if she should have left them in South Dakota. One of the reasons being the client that had hired Dominic had raised a stink when he found out he wasn't getting his books. He threatened to sue. She had snapped that the agreement died with Dominic and she was in no way obligated to complete it. Arabela told him that even if she had the books, she wouldn't give them up.

Yes, it was a lie, but it was necessary. As long as the books remained hidden, that was all right with her. She had paid too high a price for paper and ink.

* * *

Wednesday - September 5, 2007  
Queens, New York

Bela looked up at the clock chiming 8 o'clock. The faint light coming in the window said she had wasted the entire day thinking about something that happened years ago.

She looked down at the necklace in her hand, surprised by its appearance. She must have gotten it when she wasn't paying attention.

"Bad Bela." It wasn't like her to just drift off in her thoughts, dangerous things they were.

Her fingers played with the small gold medallion. The silver one next to it went unnoticed.

In the dim light, she could still make out the words circling the image of an angel. _St. Gabriel Archangel. Pray for us._

She closed her hand around both medals and brought her fist up to her mouth. Bela would need her wits about her with this new case she had been planning when she fell into Memory Lane.

The crystal skull had passed her by, cracking it in two when it had been the only way to protect herself. Bela hoped it wouldn't be a trend, destroying things to keep herself alive.

* * *

**Let me get some technical stuff out of the way first.**

**Super-Wiki places Bobby Singer's location in Sioux County, South Dakota. His license plates show that Sioux County is in Lawrence County, which is located on the west side of the state, bordering the state line. Reliance is located towards the middle of the state, southeast of Pierre. In my defense, I stumbled across Super-Wiki as I was finishing this story and changing it would change most of the story. So go with me on this, okay?**

**Creede, Colorado is located in the San Juan National Forest, so I highly doubt they would allow someone to be buried within its boundaries. I thought the small plot near the house was better than burying Dominic 33 miles away. Just go with me, okay?**

**I'm probably going to be jumping around in time in Bela's history if I continue writing Bela. Maybe this will turn AU if I go further in the future, say when she meets Dean to negotiate for the crystal skull.**

**Reviews are love, people! Let me know what you think. **

– **TG

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**

**OCT. 18 RE-EDIT: Okay, I felt I had to edit this more as a flashback chapter. If I'm wrong. Let me know.**


	3. Any Day

**Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to Eric Kripke, that lucky bastard.**

**A/N: Bela's thoughts after _Bad Day at Black Rock_.

* * *

**

**Any Day**

Tuesday - September 24, 2007  
Queens, New York

She sighed as she surveyed the damage that rank amateur Dean Winchester caused. It has taken her a lot of money to procure those items. Some were irreplaceable, like that vase from Egypt.

That the damage was by her own hand, it was her intent to hit Winchester. Therefore, it was his fault.

"Lucky bastard," she muttered. She couldn't believe she got herself sucked into a conversation. What happened to her Get in, get out philosophy? Her clean break plans?

It figures she would meet someone who was near her match in thievery. Sticky fingers? Please.

Bela wasn't about to let some idiot hunter get away with taking that rabbit's foot. She had put too much time and thought into getting a hold of that. She even let the younger brother ogle her body when she snatched it!

Chick and Sage would die laughing if they ever found out what happened. Something like this wouldn't keep quiet for long. It would get out somehow, some way. That's just the way the world worked.

That's why she tracked Dean Winchester to that cemetery to get back what was hers. She had to get one over that fast-talking idiot. She had planned on walking out of there and unloading that fucking thing onto one Luke Danvers. What she hadn't counted on was touching that cursed foot!

Twice in one fucking day she'd been had by the same fucking asshole!

Bela had no choice. She had to torch the bitch. With the high stakes she played, she wouldn't have lasted two days. Her only compensation was shooting Baby Brother, and did that feel good! She wished Winchester would have pushed just a little bit more.

Her Queens apartment was a bust. How the hell did he find her? Someone probably opened their big mouths and flapped their lips. Who knows what else they knew about her, even though she knew that most of what was said was untrue, like her name.

Bela Lugosi. She had been on a vampire kick a couple years ago. She even had an alias as Bela Fleck, but either way, that someone was going to get a bullet in their ass when she found them.

She would have to move to her secondary apartment. She packed what she had, which wasn't much, just the bare necessities, and moved it out to her car.

Bela thanked herself for having a back up plan when she started moving into the bigger cities. She had apartments in most major cities with secondary residences in place should any of the main ones be compromised. It was a lot of money, but when it counted, the extra expenses were worth it. However, only one place was home.

Though the entire thing wasn't a complete bust, Bela thought with a smile. She would definitely be cashing in those Scratch & Win tickets.

$46 million beat $1.5 million any day. A win-win situation if there ever was one.

Bela wasn't a great thief for nothing.

* * *

**It was $46 mill to $1.5, right? And they were in a cemetery?** **Oh, and Bela Fleck is a banjo player. Never heard of him before this story. **

**Man, it is really hard to write something in one hour.**

**TG**


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